imprint
by ShadowsTakeAll
Summary: "A werewolf just broke into my house to warn me that I'm in danger from supernatural forces," he summarizes, and yes, it sounds exactly as ridiculous out loud as it had in his head.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so. I have no idea how this happened. I am so far out of my comfort zone here but the idea came to me and I couldn't resist. Here's what you need to know: this is an AU story. So don't assume anything; it will all be from Stiles' POV, and you both start off clueless. Everything will gradually be revealed, and some things will be the same as the show and some things will be changed. To start with, just know that Stiles is friends with Malia and Danny, and they go to a school on the other side of town; they've never met Scott, Allison, Lydia, and the rest of the pack. Stiles knows nothing about the supernatural, but of course that's about to change. The main focuses, character wise, will be: Skittles friendship, established Scallison, and eventual Sterek. As I said earlier, I've never written like this before, so any feedback would be great. This will only be a short story, but if I get a good enough response I might try my hand at this pairing again. So, uh, that's it I guess. Let me know if you like it?**

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"No."

"Come on, it'll be -"

"Nope."

"But what if we -"

"No way."

"How about if we just -"

"Not gonna happen."

"Okay, but -"

"For the last time, Stiles, I'm not going into the woods with you tonight to look for a dead body, and for _god's sake_ put my dad's bat down."

Reluctantly Stiles obliges, leaning Mr Tate's battered old baseball bat against the wall. It promptly falls to the floor, causing Malia to roll her eyes and nudge it under her bed, on which she's sitting cross-legged with an open book in her lap. Stiles folds his arms and does his best to look pleading, which isn't hard given that he really, _really_ wants to do this.

"Seriously, Stiles, why would you even -" she starts to say, flicking to the next page in her Bio textbook. A detailed diagram of the human digestive system is spread across two pages; Malia takes one look at it and closes the book, looking faintly nauseated. "Anyway," she says, pushing the book off her lap and tapping her nails against the cover, "this is a really, really bad idea and I'm not going to be part of it."

"Come on," Stiles says again, "you're my best friend. Call me crazy but I always thought that best friends are supposed to do things together. And if I can't ask you to go searching through the woods with me at midnight, then who am I supposed to-"

"Nobody," Malia cuts in, doing her best to sound patient but hitting a couple of notes above exasperated instead. "I know teenagers are supposed to do stupid things, but this has to be the stupidest, most dangerous idea in the history of teenagerdom."

Stiles unfolds his arms, shoves his hands in his pockets, and gives her a mock-sheepish grin. "Thanks," he says, and she rolls her eyes again.

"I'm not going with you, Stiles," Malia says, still tapping her nails against the cover of the book, "and that's final."

Fifteen minutes later they're pulling up outside the preserve. Malia is in the passenger seat, her arms crossed over her chest and a slight scowl on her face. Stiles kills the engine and then drums his fingers on the steering wheel, glancing over at his friend. Although he doesn't want to say anything, he's starting to think this isn't such a great idea. It had seemed exciting at the time, listening in to his father's police scanner, following the call out to the woods. Except now he's actually at the woods and he dragged Malia along and it's a lot darker and colder out here than he'd thought it would be.

"Having second thoughts?" Malia asks, sounding not the least bit hopeful.

"No." Stiles winds up the window and forces himself not to look out it, because the woods are actually quite intimidating and he's heard the stories about the kind of things that lurk in there. Coyotes, wolves, thieves, murderers, all the things he would rather avoid if at all possible. "Maybe I should have brought your dad's bat," he mumbles.

Malia shoots him a look that's part 'you're an idiot' and part 'I still think this is a really horrible idea'. "Maybe you should have brought one of my dad's guns," she says, and Stiles knows it's a joke but it actually doesn't sound like a bad idea.

A couple minutes pass in silence and then Stiles straightens up, unclips his seatbelt, and flings open the door. "Well, I guess we're doing this then," he announces, and he's half-hoping Malia will offer him some way to back out without losing face, but she just sighs and steps out of the car after him.

"You know," she says as they make their way into the trees, "my dad used to take me out here when he went hunting."

Stiles ducks under a low-hanging branch and holds it out of the way for Malia to pass through. "Yeah, I remember that. It was back before I left, right?"

"Yeah," Malia says. "He stopped going not long after that."

There's something in Malia's voice that makes Stiles pause, halfway through stepping over a rotten log. They don't often talk about what happened during the year in which Stiles and his father lived in Texas; Stiles avoids it because he was miserable the whole time, and Malia had just never indicated that anything worth noting had happened. But now she sounds sad, her words slow and dripping with regret, and Stiles knows her well enough to know that he's missing something.

"What happened?" he asks, and Malia doesn't pretend to misunderstand.

She does, however, start walking faster, so that Stiles almost trips over as he tries to catch up to her. "Hey," he says softly, reaching for her. She ducks out of his way and skirts around a small bramble patch, and Stiles feels a jolt of something close to fear. It's not just the darkness and the coldness out here – it's the distance, the way that Malia's pushing him out. He's used to sharing everything with her, and it doesn't sit well with him that she's keeping something now.

Malia keeps walking, but she slows down when he lightly touches her arm. "Nothing," she says, shrugging him off.

"Mali," he says, a childhood nickname he hasn't called her since before he left. "This is me. You can talk to me, you know?"

"I know," she says, and that's all.

They walk in silence for a few more minutes, Stiles shifting his attention slightly to start scanning the ground in case they come across anything. They're not quite at the perimeter of the area the search party is in, but they're getting close. "We never really talk about what happened that year," Stiles says slowly. Malia raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, which Stiles takes as a sign to continue. "I've been back for over a year now and I still don't really know what you were up to while I was gone."

"There's nothing to tell, Stiles," Malia says, not quite snapping but with a definite edge to her words.

Making a mental note to bring this up with her later, when they're not creeping through the woods at midnight in search of a dead body, Stiles lets the subject drop. Malia seems suspicious but doesn't say anything, and they fall into silence again. They keep walking, Stiles almost tripping over his feet with every step, while Malia gracefully navigates the dark woods as easily as if she lives here.

"I still can't believe you talked me into looking for a dead body," Malia mutters after a while.

"Technically it's only half a body," Stiles says, unabashed even when she narrows her eyes in a clear indication that this does not in fact make their situation any better. "The police already found the bottom half."

His friend shudders. "So we're looking for the top half of some poor murdered woman?"

"I never said she was murdered," Stiles protests, but this still doesn't make the dark woods look any brighter.

"Yeah, because it's totally normal for someone to be sliced in half by natural causes," Malia says with dark humor.

"Hey, you don't know what's in these woods," Stiles says as they push their way through a particularly dense clump of shrubs. "There's coyotes out here, and I know from experience that there's at least one -"

A snapping of twigs to his left makes Stiles turn. Malia is standing beneath a shadowy tree, hands on her hips and a familiar sympathetic disbelieving expression on her face. "Stiles, there are no wolves out here."

Stiles comes to a stop too, well aware that they've had this argument before and reluctant to have it again. "Don't start this again," he groans. "Mali, seriously, the year before I left, I -"

"- found an abandoned wolf pup in the forest, nursed it back to health, and then spent the next few weeks rendezvousing with it out here," Malia finishes for him. This time it's Stiles' turn to roll his eyes. "I've heard the story before, Stiles. But I still don't believe it. You probably just found a Husky or something."

Stiles starts to argue, but a noise up ahead jerks his attention away. He signals Malia to be quiet and leads the way farther into the trees. They speed up when they reach the perimeter of the search area, both on high alert in case they run into any of the searchers.

Gradually they get farther apart, and Stiles loses sight of her a couple times. But then it happens again, and suddenly he realizes he can't hear her either. Up until now he's been able to hear her footsteps, as light as they are, and he's been keeping track of her that way. Now he comes to a stop, straining his ears, but it's all silent.

"Malia?" he calls out, and then, more loudly, "Malia?"

There's no response, but a moment later there's a rustling to his right. It sounds deliberate, but not like a person – more like an animal, creeping, stalking. _Hunting_. Stiles swallows, wishing that Malia was right beside him because he's not quite so brave when he's on his own.

"Hello?" he calls out, feeling stupid at once because it's an _animal_ and it's not going to _answer_ him. "Never mind," he says quickly, which doesn't make him feel any less stupid. Suddenly he's glad Malia isn't here because she would be laughing at him (which she does frequently).

As soon as he takes a step forward he wishes he hadn't, because a sound erupts from his right. It starts off as a growl but crescendos into a howl, one that makes the hair on the back of Stiles' neck stand up. That's definitely not a coyote.

Stiles starts backing up, instinctively searching for a weapon. The best he can come up with is a branch that's too large for him to actually pick up, but if he drags it along the ground it might make him look mildly intimidating. His walk turns into a stumble when the rustling grows louder; somehow it's more terrifying when the howl stops. Silence has never been so unsettling.

But even more unsettling is what happens next. His back hits a tree and he stumbles to a stop, still staring at the place where the howl had come from. And then, from out of the shadows, a shape emerges. At first it looks vaguely like a coyote, but bigger. Like a wolf. But before Stiles even has time to process this, the shape shifts, so that now it looks like a human. Right where the wolf had been standing. Stiles blinks a few times, sure he's imagining this, sure this isn't happening, but then the person steps forward, into the moonlight. Stiles can see his face, every detail, and he wishes he couldn't because that makes it more real somehow.

It seems like the boy – the one who, seconds before, had seemed to be a wolf – is trying to say something, but Stiles can't hear it over the rushing of blood in his ears. He moves around the tree and keeps backing up, unable to break eye contact with the stranger. If he isn't much mistaken, it looks like the other boy has red eyes. Fiery, glowing, impossibly bright. Stiles stares for another moment, and then he looks away, turns away, and sprints through the woods as fast as he can.

Just beyond the line of trees, Stiles crashes into something. He hits the ground hard, all the wind knocked out of him, and automatically flinches when he sees something reaching for him. But then he looks up and sees who it is, and allows Malia to help him to his feet.

"What happened?" she asks, looking at him like she's worried he's going to collapse (which, to be fair, is still a possibility).

"Nothing," he says, grabbing her arm and pulling her back toward his jeep. They don't say another word as he drives her home, about fifteen miles above the speed limit. His hands are shaking and his heart is pounding and that so did not just happen, only it did, which doesn't make any sense because –

"Stiles," Malia says suddenly.

"Hm?" he asks without looking at her.

"I know you're freaked out and everything, so this might be a bad time to tell you," she says slowly, "but, uh, my house was back there."

Stiles looks at the nearest street sign and realizes he's gone three blocks too far. He spins the car around and speeds toward her house, and she does her best not to look terrified. When he pulls up outside her house she doesn't get out right away. "Stiles -" she says hesitantly.

"Okay," he says, moving his hands in his lap, trying to get them to still but he's so full of nervous energy that he feels like his entire body is trembling, "I admit this was a bad idea, and from now on we will never mention this night again. Agreed?"

If Malia's shocked, she hides it well. "Sure," she says easily. "See you at school tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he says, and his shaking voice would give him away even if his entire manner hadn't already. He waits until Malia has disappeared back into her house before he drives back to his place, and then he waits until his heart rate has returned to almost-normal levels before he makes his way inside.

By the time he makes it to his room he's almost managed to convince himself that he imagined everything back in the woods, but this proves to be an ineffective strategy because the second the door closes behind him, the boy from the woods jumps up from his seat at the desk.

Stiles goes completely still, his mind spinning. His new on-the-spot theory is that he fell down a ravine and died in the woods and everything that happened afterward has been the afterlife, because that's the only way this remotely makes sense.

"Wh-what -" he manages to choke out, already reaching for the bat that he keeps by his door.

The boy's eyes dart to his hand and, before Stiles can even work out what's happening, he's snatched up the bat and is back to standing near the desk, as casual as if he hadn't just moved at super-human speed.

"What -" Stiles says again.

"Listen." The boy lays the baseball bat on the desk and holds up his hands to show he's not armed, and presumably to indicate that he's not dangerous, but it doesn't really work because Stiles is now reasonably sure he saw this boy transform from a freaking wolf, so nothing he does now could possibly put him at ease. "I know you're freaked out, and I get that. But what happened back into the woods -"

"You mean when you transformed from a wolf into a person?" Stiles interrupts, surprised by his sudden eloquence. Part of it might be because he's noticed that the boy's eyes aren't red anymore, and they definitely aren't glowing.

The boy doesn't try to argue. "Yeah. That." He sinks back down onto the chair, still holding up his hands. Stiles is expecting some kind of explanation or introduction, but instead the stranger says, "Do you remember a couple years ago, you found an injured wolf pup in the forest?"

Stiles blinks, suddenly feeling like something very strange is happening here. "How do you know about that?"

The boy looks down at his hands, now clasped in his lap, and then back at Stiles. "That was me."

This has gone beyond weird; now it's just ridiculous. "I, uh…" Stiles looks the boy up and down, frowning. "I hate to break this to you, dude, but you're, you know, a _person_." When the stranger doesn't respond, Stiles tries to clarify, as much to get his point across as to sort it out in his own mind. "And in general," he says, using his hands for emphasis (and feeling glad Malia isn't here to laugh at him for his eccentricity), "if you're a person, you can't be a wolf too."

The boy stands up again, and Stiles finds himself stiffening, rigid with fear. "Well," the stranger says (Stiles finds it strange he still hasn't introduced himself), "I'm kind of the exception to the rule." Silence falls over them, deeper and more terrifying than the kind that had permeated the woods. Then the boy shifts his feet, looking the faintest bit embarrassed. He meets Stiles' eyes and spills his secret. "I'm a werewolf."

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**I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, and thought it good enough for a review? ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, and thanks for the reviews. Since there were only a few of you (but a lot of lurkers, apparently), I'll reply individually too.**

**PrideandtheFall - sorry to say, Peter doesn't make an appearance in this particular fic. Just assume Malia's dad is actually her dad.  
SummerElainee - as you'll see this chapter, Scott definitely does feel protective of Stiles, and for good reason.  
The Magnus Bane - I can't write for Jackson, Erica, or Boyd, so they unfortunately won't be in this story, but the others are.  
DreamDark - neither have I, hence why I thought it would be cool to explore; we'll see how well it works, I suppose.  
en vacker flicka - I will definitely keep going, so here's the next chapter.**

**So, once again, thank you. Reviews make me happy/more likely to update soon, so keep 'em coming. For now, enjoy the chapter, and please do let me know what you think.**

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Two minutes later, Stiles opens his eyes. There are three things he notices right away. The first is that he's on the floor; the second is that the stranger is crouched beside him; and the third is that his left wrist is tingling like he hit it on something hard. The second fact takes precedence and he sits bolt upright, letting out a startled exclamation. This seems to startle the stranger too, because he stumbles back and almost hits his head on Stiles' bedframe.

"Sorry," Stiles says instinctively.

To his surprise, the other boy smiles. "It's okay," he says quickly.

Rubbing his neck, Stiles looks at the boy opposite him. "I fainted, didn't I?" he asks sheepishly, just barely missing out the _again _because he doesn't want this random guy to know how often Stiles faints (actually he doesn't want anyone to know because it's rather more often than he's comfortable admitting).

"Yeah," the other boy says, equally sheepish, like he knows it's his fault that Stiles just passed out.

Stiles clears his throat, trying to think of something to say. He remembers talking about social situations with his father once, just before they'd moved to Texas. His father had told him all about how being prepared for anything is well and good but he also needs to be _flexible_ and _able to adjust. _Right now he doesn't feel prepared, flexible, or able to adjust, because by all accounts he's just met a _werewolf_ and there's nothing in the world that could have made him ready for this moment.

So he asks the one thing that comes to mind. "How did you know where I live? Did you follow me home?"

"No," the other boy says, scratching the back of his head, and then he mumbles something that sounds like, "I tracked your scent."

Stiles doesn't ask him to repeat it because he's not sure he wants to know after all. Suddenly aware that he's still on the floor, he gets to his feet and walks to the door. Then he remembers that he lives here and turns back, to see the other boy getting to his feet as well.

"I, uh." The stranger clears his throat, and then he holds out his hand. "I'm Scott, by the way."

Instinctively Stiles reaches for his hand. "Stiles." He lets go as soon as possible, and tries not to dust his hand off on his jeans even though that's his first instinct. When Scott doesn't speak, Stiles takes the lead; he also makes a note to congratulate himself for this later, because he's handling it quite well considering that none of this can possibly be real and he's probably losing his mind (but in the calmest, most controlled way possible). "So, why are you in my house?"

It comes out more sharply than he'd intended, and at first he wants to take it back. But then he realizes he shouldn't, because at this rate he's got no hope of being intimidating but he can at least aim for 'not a total wuss'.

Scott doesn't seem offended; if anything he seems embarrassed. He sits on the edge of the bed, and Stiles tries not to wince as he rumples the quilt his mother had made him the year before she died. "This is kind of hard to explain," Scott says, and Stiles notices that he uses his hands to talk too, "but, like I said, I'm a werewolf. There's actually a lot of supernatural stuff going on around this area, and I, we – my pack – think you might be in danger."

"Danger," Stiles repeats. He leans against the wall, surveying the boy in front of him carefully. The words twist lazily in his mind and he tries to sift through them, but he keeps getting snagged on things like _werewolf _and _supernatural _and _danger. _"A werewolf just broke into my house to warn me that I'm in danger from supernatural forces," he summarizes, and yes, it sounds exactly as ridiculous out loud as it had in his head.

Apparently Scott thinks so too, but he covers his smile by pressing his hand to his mouth like he's deep in thought. "I know it sounds crazy," Scott says, "and it took me a long time to come to terms with it too. But I promise it's true, and I'm here to -"

"To what?" Stiles interrupts, and now he doesn't sound sharp but he does sound scared, which is kind of close but nowhere near as helpful. "To _protect_ me? If you're actually a werewolf – and I'm still not saying you are, by the way – then wouldn't it logically follow that_ you _would be the supernatural danger I'm supposed to be worried about?" It seems like Scott is going to interrupt, so Stiles ploughs on. "I mean, I've seen enough movies to know that the werewolves are usually the bad guys. All claws and fangs and horrible howling and massacring everyone every full moon – and I know there's been some weird stuff going on lately, with all the missing people and whatever, but that doesn't mean that there's anything supernatural." He pauses for half a second, sure he's building up to something but not entirely certain what. "_And_, even if there is something supernatural, then why would you tell me about it? Why would you want to protect me? You're probably the one trying to kill me and you're only telling me to throw me off guard and take suspicion off you. And, well, it's not working."

There's a point embedded in there somewhere, but even Stiles isn't sure what. So he's not surprised when Scott just gives him a blank look and says, "What?"

Stiles throws up his hands, suddenly very aware that it's after one am on a school night and he should be asleep rather than talking to a freaking werewolf. "I don't know," he says tiredly. "Never mind."

Scott waits a couple seconds, then says, "Okay. So, if you're going to believe me about you being in danger, then you're going to have to believe I'm a werewolf."

"I _believe_ you're out of your mind," Stiles says, but there's less vehemence in his voice than he'd been aiming for because part of him is convinced that the boy in front of him is totally sane and it's Stiles who's losing it. "And I also believe that you should get the hell out of my house before my dad gets back, because he's the Sheriff and he has guns, and -"

He cuts himself off, correctly interpreting Scott's expression. "Guns don't kill werewolves," Scott says, and Stiles finds himself wanting to know what _does_ kill werewolves, but Scott goes on before he can ask (or even decide if he's going to, because it's probably incredibly rude to ask a werewolf what would kill him). "What if I prove it to you? If I can convince you that I'm a werewolf, will you at least come back to my house for the night so I can make sure nothing happens to you?"

Stiles snorts. "Yeah, sure, great plan. If you can prove that you're a bloodthirsty monster then that would be just the push I needed to go to your house in the middle of the night less than an hour after I met you."

There's logic in this that even Scott can't deny, so he changes track instead. "That wolf you rescued a couple years ago," he says, jerking Stiles' thoughts away from how to kill werewolves and back toward what's actually happening right now, "that was me. I met you the first night I changed, actually."

"Changed?" Stiles echoes. "Like, the first time you…"

"Became a werewolf, yeah," Scott finishes, and Stiles is struck by how that sentence would have sounded crazy a couple hours ago but now actually seems to make sense. "And since you were the first person I came across when I changed, I kind of…" He clears his throat again (Stiles notes that he does this a lot) and goes on, "There's this thing called imprinting. It's something animals sometimes do, a way of connecting them, and -"

"I know what it is," Stiles says, although he doesn't know where this is going. He swallows nervously, and then he asks, "This isn't, like, a… sexual thing, is it?"

Scott's eyes widen. "No! _God_ no." Then he seems to realize what he said and backtracks quickly. "I mean, not that you're not – but I'm not – I mean -"

Until now Stiles has reserved judgment, partly because he's still desperately hoping this isn't real and partly because he kind of wants to hate Scott on principle, but something about the way he's rambling now makes Stiles warm up to him. Stiles laughs, and that puts an end to Scott's rambling and also seems to get rid of some of the tension. "It's okay," Stiles says, something which should be impossible to say given the circumstances, but he's actually starting to relax now.

Scott shuffles his feet, and then he seems to relax a little too. "So, uh, do you still want me to… show you?"

It takes a second for Stiles to catch on, and then he nods. "Y-yeah."

Scott nods too, and then he takes off his shirt. Stiles is taken aback because hadn't Scott just implied that he was entirely straight, and if so what the hell is he doing stripping in the middle of Stiles' room? (Not that Stiles particularly objects, because _wow_.) Scott takes off everything except his boxers, and from the easy way he does it Stiles has the feeling this isn't the first time he's done this. Then he meets Stiles' eyes, gives him what is probably meant to be a reassuring smile, and then he changes.

Ever since he was a kid Stiles has had an active imagination, but this is still stranger than anything he's ever thought up. Scott's features shift and meld and reform until he's on his hands and knees, and then he's on his paws, and there's a full-grown wolf standing in the middle of the room. Stiles suddenly realizes that this is probably a horrible idea, because he may have stood a small chance against Scott as a human, but he has absolutely no hope against a wolf.

But Scott – the wolf – doesn't seem like he's about to go for the throat. He's standing very still, his tail drooping and his head slightly bowed, evidently doing his best to appease him. Stiles stares at him, fascinated, and is about to ask him to change back when he hears the front door.

Stiles freezes, and Scott's ears prick up. The front door slams and then Stiles hears the unmistakeable footsteps of his father.

"Damn it," he mutters. He can tell by his father's footsteps where he's going, and it sounds like he's coming upstairs – which means he's coming up to Stiles' room. There's not enough time for Scott to change back, so he gestures wildly for him to hide under the bed. Scott hesitates. "Go on," Stiles urges as his father moves closer, "_get_."

At last Scott moves, quickly and fluidly, and disappears under the bed just as the door to Stiles' bedroom opens. The Sheriff pokes his head in the door, and then sighs when he sees Stiles standing there. "Why are you still up?" he asks, a conversation they've had a million times before (bless him for still trying).

Normally Stiles can spin a lie without a second thought but tonight he's all tapped out because he's still trying to come to terms with the whole _werewolves are real _thing, and the best he can come up with is, "I was, uh, studying."

"Studying," his father repeats. He mulls this over for a moment, and then apparently decides he wants to pretend that he believes it. "All right. Well, don't stay up too late?"

"Sure," Stiles says. He would usually ask about the search and the dead body, but he doesn't want to give away his presence there. So he just smiles at his father, in lieu of a _goodnight_, and waits until he's left the room. Then he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and turns back to his room. Scott is standing there, fully clothed and perfectly at ease, and Stiles lets out a startled yelp and steps back. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to this werewolf-speed thing. "Stop _doing_ that," he says.

"Sorry," Scott says, and the thing is, he sounds like he means it. "Listen," he tucks his hands into his pockets, somehow managing to look completely innocent despite the fact that he'd been a wolf less than a minute before, "I know this is probably a horrible time, and I get why you're reluctant, but we're… I mean, I imprinted on you, and…"

"Again," Stiles says, narrowing his eyes slightly, "this isn't a sexual thing?"

"No," Scott assures him, holding up his hands again as if to ward him off. "More like a… mother-offspring thing."

Stiles blinks, thinking that somehow that doesn't really sound any better. "So I'm now the mother to a werewolf," he says. "Great."

"Anyway," Scott says, apparently deciding not to delve into the complications of imprinting, "I'd really like it if you came to my house tonight so I can keep you safe. I feel kind of… protective of you."

"The last guy who said that to me was my boyfriend," Stiles says with a laugh, "and that was right before he punched the guy who'd been hitting on me."

Scott laughs too, and Stiles decides then that he likes this kid, werewolf or not. "Well, I may not be your boyfriend, but I wouldn't mind being your friend."

"One step at a time," Stiles says. "First I have to stop being terrified of you, and then I might think about being your friend."

"Right. Well, while you work on that plan, can I work on mine?"

Stiles raises his eyebrows. "What's your plan?"

"Keeping you alive." Scott says it with a totally straight face, and that more than anything makes Stiles sure that this is actually happening.

"Oh." Stiles quickly runs through everything that's happened tonight, and to his surprise he finds that he's actually almost okay with it. So he met a werewolf, so he's in danger from some supernatural evil. Somehow it doesn't seem impossible. "Well, I like that plan too. How do we start?"

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**Next chapter Stiles will meet a couple of members of the pack, who may or may not be welcoming. Send your thoughts, theories, compliments, and criticisms my way; I love hearing from you guys. See you next time!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys. As usual, thanks to the few of you who reviewed, and to all of you who are lurking - stop it. Reviews make me happy and also encourage me to write more, so if you like my work, take a moment to let me know. For now, here's the next chapter, and do let me know what you think.**

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As Stiles climbs into the passenger seat of Scott's car, he thinks that Malia was wrong. Going into the woods in search of a dead body had been a colossally terrible idea, but it had not been the stupidest, most dangerous idea of the history of teenagerdom. He knows this because he is now sure that _this_ is the stupidest, most dangerous idea ever. For one thing, he didn't tell anyone where he was going. For another thing, he technically only met this guy today (he's choosing not to include the time they'd spent together years ago when Scott was a wolf, because Stiles is still getting used to this supernatural thing and he's not sure he can comfortably think about his wolf pup friend being an actual person yet). And, finally, Scott is a _werewolf_.

But after the first initial stirrings of fear and uncertainty, Stiles mostly feels curiosity. He likes Scott, he decides, and he trusts him. This either means he's made a new friend or he's probably going to be horribly murdered and left on the side of the road. To his credit Scott doesn't _look_ like he's the mass-murdering type, but Stiles has seen enough crime shows to know that that probably means he _is_ the mass-murdering type. Except Stiles really, really doesn't think Scott is going to kill him. Probably.

"So, uh," Stiles starts, eloquent as always, and Scott glances over at him, "how does this whole werewolf thing work?"

Scott smiles, which is somehow actually reassuring. "What do you want to know?"

A thousand questions swirl through Stiles' mind and he picks one at random. "Have you always been… you know…?"

"No," Scott says, not seeming put out by the question in the least. "That night you found me – the wolf pup – I got bitten."

"Bitten?" Stiles repeats, and something occurs to him for the first time. Scott was bitten by someone, and he mentioned something that sounded like his _pack_. Ergo, he's probably not the only werewolf around, and Stiles has a feeling that not all of them are as mild-mannered and easy-going as Scott. "By who?"

Scott sighs, but not like he's annoyed by the question – more like it's a long story, one that's been told and retold so often he can't believe he has to explain it again. "Peter Hale," he says, and the name sounds vaguely familiar but Stiles can't quite pinpoint why. "He was an alpha, and I actually ended up part of his pack for a while."

There's something in his eyes that makes Stiles think that the time spent in Peter's pack had not been the happiest in Scott's life.

"But not anymore?" Stiles prompts.

"No," Scott says again, with half a shrug. "We, uh, sort of killed him."

If Stiles had been driving the car would have screeched to a stop by now, but all he can manage to do is twist around in his seat so he's facing Scott but as far away from him as possible. "Killed him?" he says, part shocked and part waiting for Scott to tell him that was just an ill-timed example of werewolf humor. "Like, to death?"

"Yeah," Scott murmurs, giving him a sideways look. "He tried to kill us and we sort of set him on fire."

"Set him on fire," Stiles repeats, thinking that he's probably going to spend a lot of his time repeating things these days just to make sure he's not the only one going crazy. "You set him on _fire_?"

"Yeah," Scott says again, avoiding Stiles' gaze.

"Wait." Stiles is still watching him carefully, still half-hoping he's going to tell him that it was just a joke or a misunderstanding and _of course_ they didn't actually _kill a man_. "When you say 'we', you mean…?"

"My pack," Scott replies, and Stiles is struck by how normal that phrase sounds. His pack. He says it as casually as Stiles says _my friends _or the Sheriff says _my colleagues_, and it doesn't sound stupid at all. "There's, uh, there's a bunch of us. We sort of... you know, keep the town safe. Investigate supernatural occurrences. That kind of thing."

"So you're like the Scooby Gang of Beacon Hills?" Stiles says, not sure whether he's impressed or disbelieving.

"Something like that," Scott says. They're almost on the other side of town now, and Scott navigates the streets so easily that Stiles has to wonder how often he's driving around at this hour. Then he decides he doesn't want to know.

"So who's the… alpha of your pack? Is that right, _alpha_? Is that a thing?"

"That's right," Scott says, and then he hesitates a moment before saying, "I am."

Stiles' first instinct is to laugh, until he realizes that Scott is serious. This makes him want to laugh even harder because somehow the most ridiculous thing about this night isn't that he's in a car with a werewolf, it's that this werewolf is only his age and is the alpha of his own pack. Stiles suddenly feels somewhat inadequate.

"You're the alpha," Stiles says. "You're, what, sixteen, and you're not only a werewolf but a freaking _alpha_ of your own pack?"

"Yep," Scott says easily, pulling up outside what Stiles assumes is his house.

The conversation seems to be at an end for now, so Stiles quietly follows Scott into the house. Although Stiles is exhausted by this point, and constantly recalculating how much sleep he would get before school if he went to bed right now, he finds himself waking up as he goes inside. The first thing he notices as they walk inside is that there's someone already in the room. She's sitting on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, and there's something that looks suspiciously like a crossbow resting across her knee.

She rises to her feet as soon as she sees the boys. Her movements are graceful, even though he can tell that she's almost as tired as they are. There's something unsettling about her, especially because as she stands up she casually points the crossbow at Stiles, who comes to a halt and holds his hands up.

"Allison!" Scott admonishes gently, and she lowers the crossbow at once but keeps looking at Stiles with suspicion glittering in her eyes.

"Who's this?" Allison asks, placing the crossbow gently on the sofa behind her and then folding her arms, as uninviting a person as Stiles has ever seen.

"This is Stiles," Scott explains, walking over to Allison and unfolding her arms. He takes one of her hands in both of his, and Stiles has the feeling this is partly because he wants to and partly because he doesn't want her picking the crossbow back up. "I came across him in the woods."

"So you, what, brought him home with you?" Allison asks, looking at Stiles over Scott's shoulder. "Scott, I know you're all for helping the helpless and whatever, but did you really have to bring home a stray?"

These words are just enough for indignation to take the place of intimidation as Stiles' dominant emotion. "Excuse me," he says curtly, "but given that Scott's a _werewolf_, I don't think calling _me_ a stray is really appropriate, or politically correct -"

Allison steps back from Scott, holding him at arm's length. "You told him?" she asks, eyes wide with disbelief. Then they narrow in anger and Stiles thinks that even Scott is quailing, which makes him feel like less of a wuss because _good god_ this girl is scary. "You just met this kid and you told him about you being a werewolf?"

"It's not like that," Scott says hurriedly. "You remember that kid who helped me through my first few transformations?"

"The one who found you in the woods when you were hurt?" Allison asks, and Stiles has the feeling that Scott's told the story of the wolf-boy friendship as often as Stiles himself has. "Wait," Allison says, catching on. "_This_ is the guy who saved you? This…"

Stiles can't see Scott's face but he can imagine the kind of look he's giving her, because she trails off without even insulting him.

"Okay," Allison says dismissively, "whatever." She shrugs, switching her attention entirely away from Stiles and focusing on Scott. "So how did it go? Did you find anything?"

"No." Scott exhales slowly, sinking down onto the sofa. Allison sits beside him, leaving Stiles to stand awkwardly in front of them. Luckily neither of them pay him any attention at all. "I tracked the scent into the woods with Isaac, but someone must have set up some traps. We had to get out of there pretty quick, and then I ran into Stiles…"

Allison turns back to Stiles, apparently remembering (and displeased about) his presence. "Right," she says, and then she turns to Scott again, like she's hoping that if she pretends Stiles isn't here, then he won't be.

In all honesty Stiles is beginning to wish he wasn't here, because Scott's nice enough but his girlfriend is terrifying. He clears his throat, and Scott looks up at him.

"Is my mom still up?" Scott asks Allison, and she nods, so he turns to Stiles and says, "Why don't you go into the kitchen? My mom's in there and she can take care of you while Allison and I talk."

It feels a lot like a dismissal but Stiles isn't going to argue. He just dips his head, avoids looking at Allison, and follows Scott's directions to the kitchen. When he walks inside there's a woman sitting at the counter, and she looks up at him with mild surprise that turns into suspicion.

"H-hi," Stiles says, hovering in the doorway.

The woman stands up and takes a step back, and it might be Stiles' imagination but it looks like she's reaching for a knife. "Who are you?"

Over the pounding of his own heart Stiles faintly hears himself say, "I'm St-Stiles. A friend of Scott's?"

The woman relaxes slightly, and then Stiles jumps as she calls out, "Scott! Did you bring a friend home?"

"Yeah, Mom," Scott calls back, and that seems to dissolve the rest of the woman's doubts.

She slumps against the counter, suddenly looking embarrassed. "Sorry," she says, and Stiles finds himself wondering yet again just how much crazy supernatural stuff goes on around here. He also wonders if this woman knows about it, but he thinks she might; why else would she have been so scared? Stiles is far from intimidating. "I'm Melissa," she says, already bustling around the kitchen and starting to make tea, "Scott's mom."

Stiles' heart starts to slow down. Melissa seems nice, and if she's Scott's mom it probably means she's not about to kill him either.

"Sorry about just turning up here unannounced," Stiles says, still standing in the doorway and feeling distinctly out of place.

"Oh, it's not a problem," Melissa says, nudging a bowl of fruit across the table and indicating for Stiles to sit down. "Scott brings home strays all the time."

There it is again – _stray_ – but it sounds a lot more friendly coming from Melissa than from Allison. He sits down slowly and picks up an apple, more to have something to fiddle with than because he's actually hungry. Neither of them speak again until Melissa hands him a cup of tea and sits down across from him, sipping from her own flower-patterned cup. Stiles runs a finger along the rim of his cup, still trying to process everything that had happened tonight.

"I don't mean to pry," Melissa says after a while, "but is everything okay?"

Stiles wants to answer honestly, but he also instinctively knows that he can't reveal Scott's werewolf-itude to anyone without his permission. He's reasonably sure Melissa knows, but just in case, he doesn't want to say anything. "Do you, uh, know about… Scott?"

Melissa narrows her eyes, but she's thoughtful rather than suspicious. "Do you?" she asks quietly, and in that moment they both understand each other.

"Doesn't it freak you out?" Stiles asks. "I mean, all this supernatural stuff…"

Melissa gives him a smile that starts out gentle and turns sad as she says, "In all honesty, it terrifies me." She finishes her tea, gives him another smile, and takes her cup over to the sink. Stiles finds himself feeling more relaxed; he can hardly remember his own mother, but he likes to think she'd be something like his: warm, inviting, friendly. She's putting him at ease without even trying, and he starts to think that maybe this supernatural thing might not be so bad after all. "Come on," she says when Stiles finishes his tea, "I'll make you a bed on the couch."

Stiles follows her back into the living room, noticing that Scott and Allison are nowhere to be seen. Melissa starts setting up blankets on the sofa, and Stiles automatically helps. As they work, Stiles tries to find the right way to ask what he wants to ask. Eventually he settles for, "So that Allison's something, isn't she?"

Melissa gives him a look that makes him realize she knows exactly what he's talking about. "She can be a little intimidating at first," Melissa admits, "but she's a good kid. They all are."

"All?" Stiles says, interested. "You mean, like, the pack?"

Melissa laughs softly, like she's still getting used to being mother to an alpha. "Yeah, the pack," she says. "Have you met any of them yet?"

"No," Stiles says, "just Scott and Allison."

As if on cue, Scott and Allison come back into the room, looking more serious than they had before. Stiles wants to ask what's wrong, but he doesn't actually want to know. "Everything okay?" he asks.

"It's fine," Scott says, and they all take their lead from him and pretend it's true. "So are you all set up out here?" he asks, and when Stiles nods he goes on, "We can talk more in the morning. But you'll be safe here – the whole house is protected."

"Protected from what?" Stiles asks with a growing feeling of dread.

Allison grimaces. "You don't want to know."

Yeah, he probably doesn't. Stiles adjusts the blankets on the sofa, feeling awkward yet again. "So, uh, I'll just settle down out here…"

"Right." Scott and Allison say their goodbyes at the door, and then Scott and Melissa say goodnight to Stiles, and then it's just Stiles alone in the living room of an alpha werewolf.

He doesn't expect to fall asleep right away, but he does, and god is he glad of that.

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**Next chapter Stiles meets Isaac, which is going to go down so well. See you there. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Come on guys, give me something to work with. I'm juggling a few stories at the moment and my update cycle is based on how popular they are, so if you want me to update this one quickly, show me you're interested. Shoutout to forbesfabulous for being the only person to review last chapter (and yes, there's going to be a bit of Stydia friendship, because duh). Anyway. Here's the next chapter, etc, etc.**

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When he wakes up, Stiles spends ten whole minutes trying to convince himself that yesterday was just a dream. This is going well until he opens his eyes, because then he realizes that he's not in his room, and that means he has to be in Scott's house, and if that's true then everything else must be. Reluctantly he sits up and looks around, and almost groans as he looks at the clock. He still has almost an hour before school starts, and he wants nothing more than to roll back over and go to sleep again; but his body has other ideas, and something that's either excitement or anxiety is shooting through his veins and he knows he's never going to be able to get back to sleep now.

There's a note on the counter in front of him, and after a furtive glance around the room (whoever left the note there had done it while Stiles was _sleeping_) he picks it up.

_My mom's gone to work, and I'm having a shower. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I can drop you back to your place before school. – Scott_

Crumpling the paper in his hand, Stiles gets to his feet and makes his way into the kitchen. He feels strange, being in someone else's house like this, but hunger overrides any awkwardness and he starts searching through the kitchen. A few minutes later he's making what would almost pass for an omelette if it weren't so liquid, and the smell of chives and onions fills the kitchen. It's a soothing smell, and it reminds him of the few times his father had tried to initiate a Stilinski Family Breakfast Schedule. They'd been sporadic but mildly successful, but they'd had to give up on that idea because Stiles never got out of bed before he absolutely had to, and after his father was late to work for the third time he decided it wasn't worth it just for breakfast.

Stiles isn't much of a cook, so all his attention is focused on the frypan in front of him. The last thing he wants is to be invited into a home with people as nice as Melissa and Scott only to accidentally burn the house down. He's so absorbed in his work that he doesn't hear the footsteps, and he doesn't even notice there's someone in the kitchen with him until that someone is pushing him up against the wall. He feels something sharp press against his neck and finds himself staring into bright yellow eyes.

An exclamation of surprise dies in his throat, which is just as well because it turns out the stranger wants to do all the talking anyway.

"Who are you?" he growls, and it actually does sound like a growl, and Stiles realizes that the sharpness against his neck is _claws_. So he was right about other werewolves, and about them not being quite as mellow as Scott.

Stiles tries to respond but the grip on his throat is too tight. He signals desperately and the boy loosens his grip, enough for Stiles to splutter, "I'm – Stiles – Scott's – friend."

The boy narrows his eyes and digs his claws in, and then, abruptly, he lets go. Stiles, who moments before had been sure he was about to have his throat slashed, curls his hands into fists and tries to look brave. He completely fails, and the boy in front of him almost laughs at his attempt.

"How do you know Scott?" the boy asks, and then he blinks and his eyes aren't yellow anymore but a more natural color. The claws, however, remain.

"Look, nothing against you personally," Stiles says, regaining some of his usual snark despite his racing pulse, "but I tend not to share information with people who just throttled me. So why don't you tell me who _you_ are?"

"I'm Isaac," the boy says, and it still sounds like he's growling, "and I happen to live here."

Stiles' gaze flicks down to Isaac's claws. "You're in Scott's pack?"

Isaac flexes his claws, and Stiles would hate to admit it but that is actually intimidating, even though the other boy is wearing a pale blue scarf that's not only unseasonable but probably a crime against fashion too. "Yeah, I'm in Scott's pack," Isaac says, "and if you don't tell me what you're doing here -"

"Isaac."

The voice from the doorway is so soft that Stiles can barely hear it, but it has an instant and obvious effect on Isaac. His claws disappear and he lowers his head, turning to face the speaker. Scott is standing in the doorway, looking stern but not angry, and he surveys the scene quickly before addressing Isaac. "What's going on here?"

"I found him in the kitchen," Isaac says, jerking his thumb toward Stiles. "I thought he might have been working with the darach -"

"He's not," Scott interrupts before Stiles even has time to wonder what the heck a _darach_ is. "He's my friend, and he's just here for the night."

"Oh." Isaac looks at Stiles, no longer aggressive but still somewhat hostile. He's also not apologetic, even when Stiles makes a point of rubbing the claw marks in his neck. Isaac shrugs and reaches for the nearest cupboard, pulling out a box of cereal. He mutters something that sounds like, "He smells like a coyote," but neither Scott nor Stiles react.

"Sorry about him," Scott says conversationally, and Isaac rolls his eyes. "He can be a little…"

He trails off, and Isaac, halfway through pouring milk on his cereal, snorts. "Go on, Scott. I can be a little what?"

"Difficult," Scott says at last, and the two share a look that makes Stiles sure they've had this discussion before.

And, unexpectedly, Stiles feels a wave of loneliness. So far he's met two of Scott's pack – Allison and Isaac – and he hasn't really liked either one. But he's seen the way Scott is with both of them, and the way they are with him, and there's something almost unbearably sweet about it. Even if Stiles hadn't already known, he would have been able to tell that Scott is the alpha. And Stiles almost wishes he was a werewolf too, just so he could have that kind of connection.

The feeling passes quickly, and Stiles chides himself for entertaining it even for a moment. He's not lonely, not really. He has his dad, he has Malia, and they have other friends at school too. He doesn't need a _pack_.

"Uh, Stiles?" Isaac says after a moment.

"Yeah?" Stiles says, quickly, because Isaac might not be as scary as Allison but he's still a werewolf and Stiles definitely doesn't want to get on his bad side.

"I think your omelette is burning."

It is, and no amount of culinary skills could save it. Stiles dumps the whole mess in the trash and settles for cereal too. The three of them eat in silence for a while, and Stiles has just about finished when someone else walks into the room. He bites back a groan, because somehow he'd just assumed that Allison had left by now. But there she is, standing in the doorway, drying the end of her hair with a pink fluffy towel.

"Morning," she says to Isaac, and gives Stiles half a nod of greeting.

He smiles back, not wanting to get on her bad side either, but he's secretly hoping she'll leave soon. He likes Scott, and he can handle Isaac, but for god's sake the first time he saw this girl she was holding a crossbow. That's not normal for a sixteen year old, regardless of any supernatural leanings.

Allison sits between Isaac and Scott at the able, and the three of them talk about things Stiles doesn't understand. He hears a lot of names, and a lot of things that sound like names but could also be code words, and then some things that can't be names or words and he's pretty sure they're making them up just to mess with him. But the others all seem very serious, and Scott in particular looks more worried the more they talk. Finally the conversation draws to a close, and Stiles pretends to be engrossed in the back of the cereal box so it won't look like he was trying to eavesdrop.

"Long story short," Scott says, "we think someone evil is trying to kill you."

Stiles swallows his last mouthful of cereal and nods, trying to act like this news doesn't faze him, while inside his body seems to be flipping between fight or flight and hitting some intermediate reaction where he just feels sick.

"And we don't want that happening," Allison adds, "so we're going to take turns watching you."

She doesn't sound thrilled about it, and Isaac doesn't look pleased either. In fact if it wasn't for Scott's reassuring smile Stiles would probably just get the hell out of here, because this is one pack he doesn't need to have anything to do with. Instead he nods again. "Okay," he says, trying to think of something more intelligent.

"We have school today, but -" Scott breaks off as his phone rings, and he answers it with an apologetic look at the others. "What?" he says into the mouthpiece, and the alarm in his voice automatically makes Stiles alarmed too (which is exactly what he doesn't need right now). "Are you sure? Lydia, did he – You're sure he was dead? Okay, okay, I get it. Yeah. I'll -" He pauses, shooting a look at Stiles, and then he focuses on the phone. "I have something to take care of here, but I can be there in five minutes. Just stay where you are."

Throughout the conversation Isaac and Allison have been watching him curiously, but neither of them seem incredibly alarmed. Stiles has to wonder how often they get phone calls like this; disaster is probably commonplace for them.

"Another one?" Allison asks, and Scott nods, and Isaac nods solemnly like this means something.

Stiles just sits there quietly (which is unusual for him, but he just can't bring himself to feel comfortable around a bunch of werewolves) and waits to see what unfolds.

"Who was it?" Isaac is already standing up, dumping his bowl in the sink and looking like he's ready to jump headfirst into whatever's going on.

"I don't know," Scott says, standing up too. "Lydia says it didn't feel like anyone she knew."

Allison seems to relax at this, but Stiles has not a clue why, because in his books familiarity is generally a good thing. "Where is she?" she asks.

"Near the mall," Scott replies, and now Allison's standing up too and Stiles has no idea what he's supposed to do. "Okay." Scott sounds decisive now, obviously in full alpha mode, and it seems to put all of the others at ease a little bit. "Isaac, you come with me. Allison, can you drop Stiles back at his house and then meet us there?"

Allison opens her mouth, undoubtedly to protest, but Scott speaks before she can.

"Please?" he says, and Allison glares at him for a moment before relenting.

"Fine," she says, with a look that makes it very clear it's not fine at all. Stiles tries not to be offended, which is easy enough because mostly he's just terrified. He'd have been okay with Scott dropping him home, but Allison? There's a lot more potential for bodily injury there.

"We'll see you in a few minutes," Scott says to Allison, and then, with a meaningful look at Stiles, adds, "And call Derek, okay?"

"Sure." Allison is decisive now too; she's not happy about her assignment, but Stiles can tell she's not going to go against her alpha.

"I'm really sorry about this," Scott says, talking to Stiles now. "Come back after school and you can meet the rest of the pack, and we can think of a better way to keep you safe."

"Right," Stiles says, and Scott gives him a grimace that almost passes for a smile before he disappears out the door.

Isaac hesitates in the doorway, and then he says, "It was nice meeting you."

"You too," Stiles says, and he can't help adding, "but your scarf is ridiculous."

For a moment Isaac seems genuinely offended, but then he just gives him a surprisingly good-natured grin. "You smell like a coyote," he responds cheerfully, and then he's gone too.

Stiles turns to Allison to ask when they're leaving, but she's already halfway out the door. "Come on," she says impatiently over her shoulder, and Stiles does.

As he puts the seatbelt on he can't help but feel like he's trapping himself in here, and he would really rather not, but if Scott trusts Allison then she can't be all bad. It's just that the silence is really, really uncomfortable. He starts to say something, but apparently Allison had the same idea because she speaks too.

"Look, I have nothing against you," she says, which is not what Stiles was expecting but doesn't make him feel any better. "But Scott has a lot on his plate right now, and I don't want you making it any worse."

"I won't," he says automatically, although he can't help but think he probably doesn't have much control over that. "I don't even want to be involved in this at all. Seriously, I just want to live a normal life far away from the supernatural -"

"Don't we all," Allison says with a laugh, and Stiles laughs too, not because he thinks it's funny but because he doesn't want to put Allison in a bad mood (assuming she's even in a good mood right now, because it's so hard to tell with her).

A few beats of silence pass, and then Stiles asks, "What's a darach?"

Allison flinches slightly, but she doesn't seem surprised. "It's a kind of dark druid," she says, her voice strangely absent like she couldn't really care less (or like she's afraid of caring too much). "All those missing people? The darach's been sacrificing them."

"Sacrificing," Stiles echoes. "Like, human sacrifices?"

Allison taps her nose.

"Do you know why?"

"We're working on it," Allison says tersely.

"And do you know why the darach would be after _me_?"

She glances at him quickly and then fixes her gaze on the road. "We're working on that too."

This isn't as comforting as it's probably supposed to be, but Stiles will take what he can get. Halfway back to his house he realizes he forgot to do his Econ homework, but for some reason that just doesn't seem as important as it used to be.

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**Next chapter Stiles is introduced to Lydia... and then he meets the rest of the pack, including a certain brooding beta. See you all there, and don't forget to review this chapter so I know you're still reading. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**You have no idea how strange it is for me to write something with absolutely no Stydia undertones.**

**Also to the guest who asked me to make my chapters longer: unfortunately that is really kind of very not possible. They're already around 2500 words each, which is about the limit of my concentration. So it's either this chapter length, or longer chapters that come out about as often as new episodes of Sherlock. Also given the number of reviews I've been getting I don't think the extra effort in lengthening chapters would be worth it, you know?**

**Anyway. Thanks for the reviews, sorry for the wait, enjoy the chapter.**

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At first Stiles attributes the lingering feeling of uneasiness to his usual paranoia, but for most of the day he can't shake the feeling that someone is watching him. Normally this wouldn't bother him so much but given that just the day before he'd been told that there was some supernatural evil out to get him, it seems like too much of a coincidence. The kind of coincidence that could potentially get him killed. Still, he has classes to go to and friends to talk to and teachers to avoid, so he tries to ignore the feeling. He makes it through the day without anyone trying to kill him (which up until yesterday wouldn't have been an achievement, but today seems a lot more significant), but things take a turn as he and Malia walk down the hall toward the door.

"I know you're still freaked about whatever happened last night," Malia says, but she recoils slightly under the sharp look Stiles gives her, "or what didn't happen, because of the thing we didn't do last night and the place we didn't go… and I don't want to make things worse…"

She trails off, which makes Stiles feels even more uneasy. "Spit it out, Tate," he says, not unkindly, and to her credit she responds without so much as an eye-roll.

"I think someone's been following you," she says, all in a rush like she's hoping that will stop him from freaking out, which proves effective simply because he's pretty much as freaked out as possible right now anyway.

"Why do you think that?" he asks, trying to sound concerned but not like he has any idea what's going on, because it may be too late for him but at least he can try to keep Malia out of this supernatural mess.

"I saw him," she admits, "a couple times. Kind of hanging around the school. Watching you."

They've come to a stop just outside the front door, and now Stiles steps out of the way of a crowd of freshmen chattering about some kind of sports team. "What did he look like?" he asks as the freshman disappear from sight, and although he's not sure why, he's lowered his voice.

Malia indicates a height with her hand – too tall to be Scott or Isaac. "Dark hair," she goes on, "dark clothes. Kind of brooding."

That's definitely not any of the pack that Stiles has met yet, which means that it may well have been something to do with the darach. There aren't many other reasons why someone would be stalking him, after all. He's about to say something to Malia when he sees a now-familiar figure behind her in the parking lot, and what he says instead is, "_Damn_."

Malia's eyes widen and she turns to look at the person who elicited this reaction. Frowning, she turns back to him. "Who's that?"

"Allison," he says simply, because it's all he can say since he doesn't actually know who she is, other than part of Scott's pack and the girlfriend to an alpha werewolf, which is something he doesn't think he can even try to explain to his friend.

Before Malia can say anything else, Allison walks over to them. Stiles braces himself for another threat or a scathing remark, but instead she's all smiles and friendly words as she greets Stiles and introduces herself to Malia.

Stiles doesn't say anything, because surely this can't be the same girl who pointed a crossbow at him yesterday. Sure, their car trip back to his house had been cordial, if a little uncomfortable, but they're not friends and he's not sure why she's here, let alone talking to him voluntarily. He notices a small pendant hanging from a chain around her neck, and if he's not much mistaken it changes color as she shakes Malia's hand, from a dull grey to a bright blue, but it must just be the light.

"We'd better go," Allison says to Stiles once the introductions are over.

Stiles nods, and then he shakes his head. "Go where?"

Allison raises an eyebrow. "To Scott's, remember?"

He does remember, but he suddenly doesn't want to go. He'd assumed he'd at least have time to go home and just be by himself for a while, because he hasn't actually been alone since before he went to Malia's yesterday, but apparently that's not going to happen. The supernatural is interesting, of course, but he would rather stay away from it, especially if it's likely to get him killed. But Allison's looking at him expectantly and he remembers the genuine concern in Scott's voice last night when he'd said Stiles might be in danger.

"I guess I should go then," he says to Malia, an unspoken apology in his words.

She raises both her eyebrows, clearly getting the hidden meaning, and then she shrugs. "Suit yourself, Stilinski," she says. "See you tomorrow."

"Sure," he says, watching as Malia flounces off to join a group of cheerleaders heading across the lacrosse field.

"You're not seeing her tomorrow," Allison says sharply, and Stiles turns to her in surprise. It's one thing for Allison to give him a lift now and then, but entirely another for her to dictate who he's allowed to hang out with.

"Why?" he asks, but instead of answering she starts walking down the front steps. Stiles hoists his backpack over his shoulder and hurries after her. "No, seriously, why?" he presses.

Allison's fiddling absently with her necklace, and either she doesn't hear him or chooses to ignore him. "Just stay away from her," she says finally.

The topic drops as they reach Allison's car, because there's somebody already there. She's leaning against the car, running a hand through her strawberry-blonde hair, and she greets Allison with a silky wave. Stiles comes to a dead stop, caught off-guard by just how cute this girl is, and also how _sad_. He's not sure why, but he can almost feel waves of sadness coming from her, washing over him and making him shiver. She meets his eyes and the feeling stops, but he's still unsettled.

"This is Lydia," Allison says, waving vaguely to her friend. "Lydia, this is Stiles."

"H-hi," Stiles says, offering a hand. Lydia considers it for a moment before shaking it, briefly, and Stiles notices that her hands are perfectly manicured and her nails are painted bright pink.

"So you're the stray that Scott brought home," Lydia says, and Stiles feels offended for a split second until she breaks into a smile.

He finds himself smiling back, and Allison, apparently deciding that introductions are over and they have things to do, gets into the car. Lydia gets into the passenger seat, leaving Stiles to slide into the back.

"So," Lydia says, twisting in her seat to look at Stiles, "Allison tells me that Scott found you wandering in the woods last night."

"I wasn't wandering," Stiles says defensively, and then wonders why he bothered being defensive because it might actually have been better if he _had_ just been out for a stroll. "I was… searching."

Lydia blinks. "Searching for what?"

Stiles hesitates, but then, figuring he has nothing to lose, says, "For a body."

"A body," Lydia repeats, and Stiles thinks it's nice to not be the one repeating things for once. Then, to Allison, she says, "That must have been whoever I screamed for last night."

The girls share a significant look, and Stiles tries to figure out what's happening. "Excuse me," he says, and Lydia turns back to him, "did you just say you _screamed_ for them?"

"You didn't tell him?" Lydia asks Allison, who shrugs, like she really couldn't care less about what Stiles has or has not been told. When the other girl doesn't say anything, Lydia fixes her gaze on Stiles again. "I'm a banshee," she says, and there it is again – that casual way they say things like _werewolf _and _pack _and _darach._ She says it like it's normal, so he tries to act like it is even though he's still new to this supernatural thing and it is all so far from normal.

"It means she screams when someone's about to die," Allison says, glancing at Stiles in the rear-view mirror.

Stiles isn't sure if she's being condescending or helpful, but he has other things to worry about. His mind flashes back to Scott's phone conversation at breakfast, and things fall into place. "Did someone die today?" he asks, and Lydia's mouth falls open in surprise. "I overheard Scott talking to you on the phone," he explains, and she shuts her mouth and looks at Allison.

"You didn't tell me he was smart," she says.

"I didn't think he was," Allison replies without missing a beat.

Strangely used to Allison's veiled hostility by now, Stiles focuses his attention on Lydia instead. "So the darach is the one who's been sacrificing people, right?"

Lydia nods. "We think we've figured out the pattern, which is why we've been keeping an eye on you."

"When you say 'keeping an eye on' me, what do you mean?" Stiles asks. He watches Lydia carefully, still trying to make up his mind about her. She's not as openly hostile as Allison or as overtly friendly as Scott, and he can't quite get a handle on her – or decide if he likes her. Plus, the whole banshee thing is just a little bit creepy.

"We had someone watching you today," Lydia explains, not apologetic in the slightest.

Stiles feels a rush of relief – so it was one of the pack watching him today after all. "Who?"

It's Allison who answers, glancing at him again. "Derek Hale," she says, and he realizes at last why the name _Hale _sounds familiar.

"Derek Hale?" he echoes. "As in, Derek of the Hale family, the one that was pretty much burned alive in that electrical fire?"

"That's the one," Allison confirms.

Stiles mulls this over. He'd never met any of the family, but he'd heard about it; heck, the whole town had. He'd been vaguely aware that Derek was still in town, but he's a total social recluse and it was alleged that no one had seen him in years. Which makes sense considering apparently he's a werewolf, or some other kind of supernatural being that's important enough to be in Scott's pack.

"Who else is in the pack?" he asks, and then realizes that he sounds too eager, like he's prying for information.

The girls share a look and he can tell they're trying to decide if he's just curious or if he's a spy, but they give him the benefit of the doubt. "You've already met me and Scott," Allison says, "and Isaac, and now Lydia. There's Derek, the twins, and Kira, and that's it."

"So there's eight of you," Stiles says, thinking it through. "There are eight werewolves in Beacon Hills and somehow nobody's _noticed_?"

"They're not all werewolves," Allison says.

"I'm a banshee," Lydia reminds him, and it sounds almost like she's proud of the fact.

"And I'm a hunter," Allison adds.

"A hunter?" That would explain the crossbow at least, but it probably means she's good at using it and that's a troubling thought.

"A werewolf hunter," Lydia clarifies, and finally Stiles reaches a point where he absolutely cannot keep up with the supernatural.

"You're a werewolf hunter," he says, and she dips her head. "But you're in Scott's pack. Did it just slip your mind when you joined? How can a werewolf and a hunter possibly be compatible in any way?"

Lydia snickers, although Stiles doesn't really see what's so funny. "It's complicated," Lydia says, and it really is, because they spend the rest of the car ride explaining everything to him and by the time they reach Scott's house he's still not sure he understands anything.

But he's definitely in the loop more, although he's so dazed with all the new information that he hardly pays attention as he's introduced to the rest of the pack. Kira, who introduces herself as a thunder kitsune, is almost as welcoming as Scott, and Ethan, one of the twins, gives Stiles a warm smile. The other twin, Aiden, wraps his arm around Lydia and gives Stiles a mildly threatening look, but if Stiles can handle Allison he thinks he can handle anything.

After the introductions, the pack settles down in Scott's living room. The twins drag chairs in from the kitchen and sit down beside each other. Allison, Lydia, and Kira take one of the couches; Scott and Isaac take the other. Stiles, after a brief pause, sits down beside Scott, and then the pack meeting starts.

Two days ago, Stiles would have laughed at anyone who had told him that he was going to be sitting in on a werewolf pack meeting. But now here he is, surrounded by banshees and hunters and werewolves and kitsunes, and they talk about the darach and the sacrifices and magic, and every now and then they'll have to stop so they can explain something to Stiles.

Scott explains that there are significant signs pointing to Stiles being the next sacrifice, and Lydia backs it up by saying that her banshee senses are tingling (she doesn't quite say it like that but it's how Stiles chooses to think of it), and they're all about to work out a strategy to keep Stiles safe when the front door swings open and the final member of the pack walks in.

Dark hair, dark clothes. Kind of brooding. Malia's description fits him perfectly, except for one small thing.

He's the most attractive guy Stiles has ever seen.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**Don't forget to review, and I'll see you all next chapter. :)**


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